The Story Without A Name
by Shaggley
Summary: ...which needs YOU to have one! Read inside! -   The secret behind Drakken's money is Shego's voice, but it looks like she doesn't know this. At least until her number one fan doesn't get involved...
1. Ouverture

**Disclaimer Note of Doom**: _This work, as every work of mine on this account, has characters, situations and settings that belongs to Disney (at least until 2052), and are just borrowed for entertaining purposes._  
_No money changed hands, nor I am expecting that it will do it in the next 41 years. _

* * *

Ok, here's the sitch.

Point is, this little story of mine that is going to begin in a few hundreds words _still hasn't a name._

It's a story without title.

And it needs **YOU** to get one: read it, enjoy it, and then start thinking about a nice, cool name you'd like it would have.  
If the name is good enough,_ it will be the name of the story_!

Plus, you will have my neverending gratitude.

But if you are the kind who doesn't think this is enough – wait, there's more!

After the story will end, there will be an Omake by me, inspired by the events of the story itself, and it will be dedicated to the winner!

So, guys, put your minds to work and laugh your faces off. This story may be many things, but may Drakken use one of his gizmos on me, if it won't be funny.  
And entertaining.

And erotic, in the end.

_Buona lettura!_


	2. Hard Hearted Hannah

**_The Story Without a Name_**

_- Romantic Short Story in Four Points of View Plus One -_

* * *

_No moon at all, what a night..._

_Even lightnin' bugs have dimmed their lights;_

_Stars have disappeared from sight,_

_And there's no moon at all._

Julie London, _No Moon at All_

If only Shego could have imagined where the mighty Dr. Drakken was getting a good part of his money from, the blue scientist thought between chuckles, he would have been fried to an handful of livid ash.

But, Drakken reasoned while fine tuning lights and sound of the cameras in Shego's room, his sidekick suspected nothing of this.

Shego tossed aside her towel, coming out from the bathroom still dripping in water, that was sucked down and dryed by the moisture-sensitive floor. From time to time, living with Dr. Dimwit had its benefits.  
She let herself lay down on the bed, savoring the sweet feeling of fresh sheets on her naked skin; she started playing with her hairs, thinking about the last fight with Kimmie, just an hour before, and how the girl had seemed to go a little easier on her this time – a big mistake, because Shego had knocked her down with a good-aimed kick. Pumpkin had remained to the floor for a little more than a second – maybe a second and an half? - so it was quite the new record.

Pleased with herself and her accomplishements, Shego reached for one of her pillows, and took from under it a new pair of bra and panties, both black. She struggled a little while fastening her bra, thought.  
Twenty-four years old, and her bosom was still growing, she thought huffing – maybe all her fights with Pumpkin were causing her a hormonal unbalance? An instant later, she chuckled at the thought. Yes, like such a thing was even remotely _possible_.  
_Uhm._  
Trying not to think about the involuntary pun, she finished to get dressed, and stood up from the bed, heading for her wardrobe, she spent a moment or two thinking about what to put on on her lingerie. At last, she chose a white tank top, which was very tight on her waist, torso and – even more so now, it seemed – on her chest, and a cream miniskirt, hugging her hips.  
Admiring herself in front of her wall-sized mirror, she smiled at her form, putting her hands on her hips, tilting a little on the right, emphasizing the curve of her legs.  
She was ready.

A couple of rooms away, a certain Dr. Drew T. Lipsky clapped his hands together and chuckled in delight.  
She was ready.  
Oblivious and ready.  
And more cash was going to flow.

When Shego drew closer the microphone to her lips, she enjoyed the familiar jolt of pleasure she felt from indulging into her darkest passion.  
Well, one of the darkest, at least.

And then the piano and the trumpets started to play.  
Shego rolled on her bed, closing her eyes and, a smile still hanging on the corner of her lips, opened her mouth wide.

_They call her Hard Hearted Hannah,  
The vamp of Savannah,  
The mea-nest gal in town..._

She was still amazed, even after all these years, at how her voice was capable to sound smooth as silk and sharp as her own razor nails at the same time. Images of a long time ago, of a shy young girl singing in a club tried to climb up on the corners of her mind, but she let the music crush them down, and started moving her arms and hips on the bed, passing her left hand between her long dark hairs.

_Leather is tough, but Hannah's heart is tou-gher,  
She's a gal who loves to see men suf-fer!  
Tease 'em, and thrill 'em, to tor-ture and to kill 'em,  
__Is her delight, they say;_

She lifted her eyelids, a wild look in her eyes; she didn't usually imagined an audience to her shows, but this time, she had a particular one in mind, and she looked directly at the imaginary camera, her smile becoming more open and sly, her voice more deep and sultry.

_I saw her at the seashore with a great big pan,  
There was Hannah pouring water on a drow-ning man!  
She's Hard Hearted Hannah, the vamp of Savannah, GA!_

Oh, the things she could do with her voice! She had already had that tonality, that strange, exotic tone before the comet accident, but in the years, when she discovered that her powers could cover all of the electromagnetic spectrum, she started experimenting with sonic waves, and that her voice started to cover first all of on octave, than two, than three. Now, she could cover four.  
And she was still improving.

_They call her Hard Hearted Hannah,  
The vamp of Savannah,  
The mea-nest gal in town;  
Talk of your cold, refrigeratin' mamas,_

_Brother, she's a polar bear's pajamas! _ There was nothing that she loved more than singing in her free time, when she was truly alone and she was allowed to be herself, to let the mask of the though henchwoman fall down and show her desire for rythm, for harmony, for the joy of going with the flow and let herself forget about all the worries, all the never-working plans of Dr. Dimwit.  
She let her legs swing at the rythm, still playing with her hairs in a teasing way, swaying hips and arms on the bed, the small microphone hanging on her lips.  
God, there was nothing she loved more than this.

_To tease 'em, and thrill 'em, to torture and kill 'em,  
It's her de-light, they say, _

Oh, it definitely was! She had a figure to die for, and she knew well how to enphasize it; even more, how to create that aura of enigma, freedom and dangerouness that was the true source of her incredile sex-appeal.  
She loved being complimented almost as she liked having a good fight. And, she thought when she sent her voice throught new heights, there was nothing she loved more than singing it out.

_An evening spent with Hannah sit-tin' on your knees,  
Is like tra-velin' through Alaska in your BVDs.  
She's Hard Hearted Hannah,  
The vamp of Savannah,  
She's Hard Hearted Hannah, va-mp of Savannah,GA..! _

She let the last note hanging on her lips for half a minute, elongating it in a sensual thrill that slowly shaded to nothingness, but seemed to still echoes on the walls of her room.  
Shego took away the microphone from her lips, just for savoring the moment when the first song ended.  
God, she _loved_ this; only, she thought just before starting the second song, she was actually wrong.  
There was one thing, just _one_ thing, she would have loved even more doing.  
Her smile grew wider.

Outside, Dr. Dimwit, knew to the most as Dr. Drakken, was still laughing and clapping his hands in glee. Oh, if only she had imagined! But he had been so careful all those times, and his contract with her... manager was strict: Shego would have never known anything of this.  
In the first place, because he, the mighty Dr. Drakken, and the manager would have been reduced to a lumps of ashes – and then, because she would have most likely stopped singing in secret.  
When the second song started, he headed for the phone, and, humming the tone Shego was singing, he talked to the person on the other end of the line.

"Hench? The new material is ready. I will send it to you in an hour or more."

He chuckled at the excited response of the man; he held out the phone and let Jack Hench hear the echoes of the song.

"She seems to be even more all that now, so I shall ask you... say, fi-, no... ten more millions this time. Ok?"

There was silence on the other end of the line; Dr. Drakken smirked and drew near the phone to the source of the song, then again to his ear.  
The answer of Hench elicited another rasp laugh from him.


	3. Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend

___Don't make a sound, it's so dark  
Even Fido is afraid to bark;  
What a perfect chance to park,  
And there's no moon at all._

Julie London, _No Moon at All  
_

Jack Hench could consider himself a happy man; he ruled a shady business that had an income measured in billions, had the best part of the world's mightiests villains under his thumb, and he had just received the final bill of the number of tickets sold for the fourteenth Shego premiére, a cifre that topped two millions including bookings.  
At an average of one hundred dollars per ticket... it was a little more than two hundred millions that was flowing into his accounts from the miriads of henchmen, clients, associates, and general bad-ass people around the world that knew about Shego's singing and were waiting for, each two or three months, a new release, or a repeat.

There were no disks, no compliations and most definitely no records; an army of hackers patrolled the Internet hourly searching for any traces of Shego' songs, uploaded from some smart-ass who actually managed to fool his own security and get a copy of the show. After an handful of mysterious accidents in the first weeks the show was begun, every geek smart enough to count up to three had learned that no one could mess with Jack Hench, and that the only way to hear Shego again was in one of his theaters.

Comfortably sat on his royal seat in the HenchTeathre, on the third sub-floor of his HQ, the red silk smooth under his own impeccable suit, he was letting his gaze enjoy the sight of the hundreds of villains, thieves, mad scientist and so on that were in the theatre. He raised his hand to answer at the greetings of one or two presidents. Then he crossed his fingers and let his hands rest on his lap, adressing the person next to him, tilting a little his head to the left.

"It's really an honor to have you here. I will make sure you won't came out of here without a sign of my esteem."

The figure next to him didn't answer. Hench just reclined his head on the chair ad resumed thinking again about all the millions he was going to make.  
Then, lights started to dim; from below, there were cheers and cries of expectancy. In one corner, crackles of electricity shone for a moment. Numerous glowstick started to appear in the darkening room, swinging from various hands. They were, obviuosly, HenchCo's _EviLight Glowstick_, and they were, obviuosly, green.

The giant screen on the other end of the room started to show various products of Hench Co; in the room there were a couple of disapproving cries. Nonetheless, Jack Hench knew, still sporting that smug look on his face, that these theatrical releases were one of the best moments to air commercials about his not-so-well selling products.  
But, after the third spot on his HenchCo. Kiwipeeler of Doom 3000 – the only article of his catalogue that held the sad record of selling just two pieces -, even Hench started to feel a little uneasy.

Luckily, it was the last interruption, and with a roar from the throng in the room, appeared the credits on the screen, and a low, sensual lounge music started to play.

_Hench Co is proud to present_

Jack joined his fingers again, and let himself rest on the chair more comfortably; the figure next to him, instead, leaned forward.

_The nineteenth installation in _  
**Shego: The Complete Works**

There was darkness for a moment again, then the image of a panting Shego on her bed, dressed in a white skirt and a tank top to match, her legs up in the air, filled the screen.  
Jack'mouth stirred in a smug smile. Even after all these times, he couldn't be less amazed by the beauty of the woman who was just about to unleash her most dark secret once again; he was circled by gorgeous females all the time, and yet the particular appeal of Shego hit him every time.  
The room was filled with the sound of a piano and strings.

_A kiss on my hand  
May be quite con-tinen-tal,  
But dia-monds are a girl's best friend._

_A kiss may be grand...  
But it won't pay the rental  
On your humble flat;  
Or help you at the automat._

The head of the greatest villain corporation in the world let himself savoring the smoky voice of Shego, than exotic and sensual tone that seemed to linger in the air even when the note was over, caressing it like tiny hands of smoke.  
It was a pleasure that send shivers up and down his spine, and made his eyes roll under his eyelids, already lost in the song; there were just a couple of songs, just a certain kind of music, only an handful of tones tha could have that effect on him.  
The final notes of the first moviment of Vivaldi's _Summer_; the middle part of the _Valzer of Flowers_ by Tchaikovsky; the _Ouverture_ of Rossini's _La Gazza Ladra_. And then there was Shego and her voice.

_Men grow cold  
As girls grow old,  
And we all lose our char-ms in the end...! _

_But square-cut or pear-shaped,  
These rocks don't lose their shape.  
Dia-monds are... a girl's best friend. _

It was really appropriated to Shego, Jack thought, a song like that; he had been fascinated by the girl's attitude toward money for the few months she was employed under him, a couple of years ago. Just after she had finished sneaking into his HQ, flattening two hundreds of his hencmen, sweeping the floor with his personal guard, and showing him the holes into his secutiry system on a blackboard while savoring _his own_ morning coffee, he remembered.  
The woman had always struck him as a very straight-forward person, who took everything she wanted when she wanted it, and driven by a very pratical mentality that he cannot but appreciate; _Machiavellian_, that was one adjective for Shego.

Even if, when she was singing of the bed, jutting out the curves of her body, her legs and arms drawing erotic circles in the air, her black hairs moving on her back, a strand of black hair in between her lips while she was singing, it wasn't the only adjective he had in mind.

_There may come a time  
When a lass needs a lawyer,  
But dia-monds are a girl's best friend._

_There may come a time  
When a hard-boiled employer  
Thinks you're awful nice,_

And then Shego opened her eyes a little, and pointed her finger to the camera, her smile more sly, her voice even more low and sensual.

_But get that ice or else no dice._

For the briefest of moments, the crowd exploded in cheers, the glowsticks moving rapidly in the air; most of the spectators wanted to savor every moment of Shego's voice. An handufl were knocked out cold by their neighbours for having ruined them the pleasure of a particular note.  
Even Jack was not immune to the charm of that particular line; a single drop of sweat moved on his forehead. When he raised his arm to swipe it away, he felt a slight touch on his shoulder.  
He turned his head, frowning in the darkness. He didn't like to be disturbed.

There was the plump form of Jaimie, one of his secretaries, holding up a phone. A golden phone.  
He huffed slightly and make a gesture to her to wait a couple of seconds. Judging from the music, Shego was in the final part of the song, and he had no intention to go away when she was singing, even for the person who most likely was on the other end of the line.

_He's your guy  
When stocks are high,  
But beware when  
they... start to descend!_

Shego started the final lines of the song arching her back and putting one arm on her forehead, letting it slowly crawl back through her neck, shoulderblade, around her left breast, and down her torso.

_It's then that those louses  
Go back to their spouses.  
Dia...mo...nds are a girl's...  
Heh, best friend!_

She concluded launching the microphone in the air and grabbing it a second later, when the last note extinguished itself. The screen went black.  
The room rumbled with applauses, cheers, and words, some repetition of Shego's name, some not.

Jack Hench got up from his chair, and letting a brief glance at the person next to him, he let the last of the shivers leave his body as he exited from the room and grabbed the golden phone from Jaimie's small hand, and, holding her waist while he answered the phone, wondered if he had enough time for this before the next song started.  
Even if the person on the other end of the cable could destroy everything he had built during those years with a wave of her hand just for making her waiting, he still glanced at the entrance of the room, from where nothing still came but raging applauses.

"Dr. Director", He said to the phone,"it's always a _pleasure_ to hear you."

* * *

_In the first place, I want to give thanks to everyone who read, reviewed and enjoyed this, in particular to Ashfisher92 and zzzoo99; keep those name coming, guys!  
Thank you, thank you thank you! Your efforts helps mine._

_So, what do you think?  
Who is Hench's mysterious guest?  
How is Dr. Director implied?  
And why is Shego singing, in the first place?_

The answers, maybe, in the next part...


	4. My Heart Belongs to Daddy

_If you need atmosphere for inspiration, dear,  
__One kiss will make it clear_ _That tonight is right and  
__bright moonlight might interfere._

Julie London, _No Moon at All_

When Elizabeth Director started wondering why on a regular basis every villain's, thug's, henchman's and even evil pet's activity stopped once every three-four months, on a regular basis, she had expected everything, from a periodical flu that affected two millions people at the same time to the activity of volcanoes on Io.  
Everything but this.

Uncomfortable seated on her chair, she passed her hands again on the stamps on her desk; blurred, black and white pictures were everything her agents had managed to obtain after six months of undercover work. Nothing she could get a firm grip on; and the first two agents she had sent spying in Jack Hench's headquarter paid an high price for those few photos. She opened they were only in jail.  
But the disk she had received that morning... well, _received_, she thought again, tapping it's paper folder with her fingers, it just happened to be on her desk when she arrived – that disk was something else altogether.

She inserted it again into her GJ laptop, and let the computer do its scanning on the disk, trying to find an access between the protection walls and ecryption codes written deeply into it, but that seemed impervious even to her own programs, able to hack into the database of the Defence in fourty-seven seconds. It looked like it's protections learned from the programs trying to attack them, building new codes in order to substitute those decrypted.  
So, it remained a simple Write-Only disk – the only thing she managed to know was that it had been created just a couple of days before.

It was full, and it contained a file that could only be played with a program encrypted in the disk itself; every attempt to obtain a copy of the file recording it while it was playing on the monitor ended with a black blot where the images should have been, and with silence in the sound's place. Even the most... analogical of solutions, recording it live with another camera, had produced the same black dot and silence; it was an encrypting system that defied logic, but paled in front of the images that had run on the screen.  
Elizabeth Director huffed and pressed "play" again.

It looked like the enterior of a theather of some sort, just before the opening of the curtains. The only difference was that instead of the stage there was a huge screen; when it started turning on, Dr. Director read again those words that had pushed her to jump on her chair, the only one time in years.

_Jack Hench CO. is proud to present_

The sixth installation in

**The Complete Works of Shego**

And then, sitting on a chair in what Dr. Director could have bet was her room in Drakken's lair – at least judging from the amount of black and green furniture - there was a Shego playing with a microphone, letting it hanging between her fingers from its line, her lips curved in a smile.  
With a glint in her eyes, she let it drop until it was just before her mouth, and, slowly moving her legs back and forth, started singing.

_While te-aring off a game of golf,  
I may make a play for the caddy;  
But if I do, I don't follow through:  
Cause my heart belongs to Daddy...  
_

It was the seventh time she had heard this, but every sensation had hitten her before, she was feeling it again; Shego's voice seemed to caress her spine, eliciting shivers that reverberated in all her body, echoes that propagated from her hears into her fingers, her torso, her hips... it was something similar only to the vibrations of the noise producted by high-yield explosions.  
But these were much more nicer.

_If I invite a boy some night,  
To dine on my fine food and had-die;  
I just adore, his asking for more!  
Cause my heart belongs to Daddy...!_

Shego started swaying ber hand, putting it on her chest, and drawing strange forms on it.  
It was very intriguing.  
As were the other movements of Shego on the screen.

_Yes, my heart belongs to Daddy,  
Yes, I simply couldn't - be bad!_

And there it was again! Shego pouted saying the last line of the song. Actually pouted. Dr. Director rubbed her forehead; if she had imagined something Shego couldn't do even in a million years, was pouting. When her hand was back on the desk, it was a little sweaty.

_Yes, my heart belongs to Daddy...  
Da, Da, Da, Da, Da, Da, Daaaad. _

Not in her wildest dream could she have thought Shego's voice being something like that; it was smoky and low by itself, but the shivers that crawled under her skin, the titillation in her ears hearing the words the green villainess was pouring from her mouth... it was something that found her totally unprepared for.  
It was devious and unexcusable.  
It was amazing.

_So I want to warn you laddie...  
Though I know that you're perfectly swell,  
That my heart belongs to... Daddy;  
Cause my Daddy, he treats it so well! _

How?  
How could a villainess, even one as Shego, have such a side?  
If there was one thing Elizabeth Director had learn in her life, it was that criminals were all but complicated – they all belonged to three kinds: the fruitcakes like Drakken, the megalomaniacs like her own brother Sheldon or that Monkey Fist, and the emotional types, that were there both for the thrill or for desperation, like the Seniors.  
But how, how could the woman who was moving on the screen, arching her back and purring in the camera, raising her hand to caress her own body, fit into one of those categories?

_Yes, my heart belongs to Daddy!  
So I simply couldn't be bad!_

That wasn't true. Most definitely nor true. It was an unwritten rule on Betty's book that there were no such thing as a grey zone. Either you were good, or you were bad.  
And then, there was Shego, singing and eliciting feelings she felt only as a little girl at her first Pink Floyd's concert; her wet hands, the trembling spine, the lolling head on the rythm of the music.  
How could someone this bad, this ruthless, this despising everything Betty knew as good and true and _legal_, generate such beauty?

_Yes, my heart belongs to __Da__ddy  
Da, Da, Da, Da, Da, Da, __Da__aaad _

No, thought again Betty Director, watching Shego sitting up, one leg on the ground, the other on the chair, keeping the microphone in her hand, closing her eyes and skyrocketing her voice, there was something amiss. How could she receive somthing like that, like this video in such an ecrypted support?  
She was more and more sure that it was a warning.  
What could happen if Shego got out of the closet with things like that? She could become a... star out in the lawful world. In the righteous world. In her world.

_So I want to warn you laddie,  
Though I know that you're perfectly swell  
That my heart belongs to Daddy  
And my Daddy... he treats me so weeell...!_

The song ended, Shego collapsing back again in the chair, that trademark smirk elongated in a truly devious and seductive smile; with the echoes of the song disappearing from the room, Elizabeth Director felt her shoulders fall.  
There was something strange here, and she wanted to know everything about it.  
She couldn't permit, in the slightest way, that someone as Shego used stardom to not being pursued for her crimes; she was dangerous, and she needed someone to discover what was going on.

Someone able to pass through Hench's defenses, someone able to keep her mouth shut, someone totally impervious to Shego's charm, and with a steel moral fiber.  
Someone adept at fighting her.  
Reaching for her special phone, she dialed a special number; in a couple of minutes, Kim Possible would be there, ready for action.

Dr. Director bit her lip.  
A couple of minutes.  
She moved her hand on the laptop and clicked _play_ again.  
Just one more time...

* * *

_Again and again, a penny for your thoughts.___

See you in part 4 - where things will start to get a little more red and a little more spicy...


	5. Red Nocturne

__

No moon at all way up a - bove;  
_This is noth - in' like they told us of.  
_

Julie London, _No Moon at All_

That evening, Kim Possible entered in her home still holding the spacesuit's cask; the rest of it was already under Wade's custody, but she liked to keep the cask as a remainder of her last mission. She stopped in her tracks when she saw her mom coming near, with kitchen gloves and an apron, smiling at her.

"Hi, Kimmie-Cub? How was the day?"

The teenage hero smiled, and put the cask on the table, reaching for a glass.

"Oh, it was pretty easy, indeed. Drakken had this big orbiting station, and he had the idea to concentrate solar light with a giant mirror..."

She poured a couple inches of green juice into the glass, and lifted it to her lips, taking a sip.

"Hmmm, that's good, mom. What's this?"

Drs. Possible waved with her hand.

"Oh, just a bit of kiwi juice with a drop of lemon I made with that machine you brought home a couple of months ago... so, there was this mirror, and...? Kimmie?"

Kim put the glass on the table, smiling awkwardly between coughs. A little of the juice had got the wrong way down her throath at the mention of the Kiwipeeler of Doom – she had hoped the thing just fell in misuse and was forgotten.

"Coug! No-nthing, mom. I J-cough!-ust got a lit-tle..."

She coughed again, her hand over her mouth, and finally her throath was free from the final drops of the juice.

"And... then, there was this giant mirror which he planned to use to incinerate cities, too bad it wasn't naked mole rat-proof. The rest, same old, same old."

She waved her hand, happy to change topic. Her mother smiled wider.

"I'm glad it went so smoothly. Anyway..."

She came closer, holding up one of her gloves with a conspiratiorial tone,

"Me and your father thought about taking the evening for ourselves. And the night too."

Kim's cheeks blushed slightly; her mother smiled again.

"And this way you can ask Ron to came over... I've just finished prepping a dinner for two, so you can have a good time and watch a movie or something..."

She winked and Kim's blushing deepened. Well, sure, that was a chance like they had never had before, but was she really ready to... after all, the previous attempts hadn't been that... good.

"And the Tweebs? Do I have to sit them, tonight?"

She didn't know if she had asked that out of annoyance or hope.  
Her mother started to slip her hands out from the gloves.

"Don't worry, they are at the space center. Dr. Vivian promised to show them some robotic scraps and keep them interested for the night; they will sleep at her place... which I suspect it's her office."

Kim raised and eyebrow.

"Isn't she afraid to turn the space center into a smoking crater?"

Drs. Possible smiled at that; she started to unfasten her apron, revealing the skirt she was wearing, very tight around her shapely legs.

"Don't worry. I know Vivian, and she can be strictwhen she wants to. And, don't forget your brothers have just started to hit puberty. I don't think they will be this impatient to mess with Dr. Porter."

Kim grinned a little, knowing well the robotic expert's looks. Her mother really could think things thorough, when she wanted to... well... spend a night with her fath... she stopped thinking about that. It was sick and wrong.

"So, have a good night, Kimmie-Cub... I'll go to pick your father up in five minutes. The dinner is in the oven, it will be ready in an hour or so. We will be back tomorrow morning, around nine. I want to find a clean house."

With that, she hugged briefly her daughter; Kim felt the halo of her cologne around her neck. So, she was really, theywas really... she had to stop thinking about it, damnit! She freed herself from the hug with an awkward smile, and, taken in her hands the suit's helmet, she headed for her room, hearing the noise of her mother's heels on the floor.

She entered her room and tossed herself on the bed, letting the helmet rolling on it; she reached for her Pandaroo and started squeezing it, feeling the soft fur on her skin and clothes. It was such a pleasant sensation, opposed to the situation she was facing.  
Her room, her house was free. For the first night since... well, since the dawn of time, she will be alone in her house, and able to spend the night with... Ron.

The first attempts to such a thing had resolved into nothing short of a disaster. She had lost her... she blushed unvlountarily at the thought, even is she was alone in the room – her... cherry during cheerleader practice, one year and half ago. It had been downright embarassing, but she had been supported by all her fellow cheerleaders – even Bonnie had seemed caring.  
For one minute or two, that was, but still.

Even without that complication, the thought of doing something... like that with Ron seemed just... she wouldn't think wrong, but...  
She rolled on her bed, hearing the sheets whishing under her body; her pandaroo was a little less helping than always, too.  
They had tried three times, and three times it looked like Kim's body just didn't want to work; there was no collaboration in the south. And she kept asking herself if she was going to try it again just because Ron was her boyfriend and couples were supposed to do this and that.  
Not that she didn't hear all sort of things from Monique, either, about 'this and that'.

Downstairs, she heared her mom's voice saying goodbye; she raised her hand in a mechanical gesture, but said nothing; maybe because she was occupied thinking about other things, maybe because her mouth was deep into Pandaroo's soft fur.

She rolled again on her bed, than she took a glance at her spacesuit's helmet; there was a little burn on the side, where she had avoided at the last second one of Shego's plasma blas-

Kim's eyes opened a little wider; she raised from her bed, letting Pandaroo rest on it, and turned on her computer; a couple of seconds of Po-Wade-red (like he kept calling them) engine later, she started looking for a particular folder on her desktop. And then she opened another folder into it; another one.  
Another one, this time hidden; and into that one, a compressed file that she unzipped.  
Into it, there was an encrypted file of which only her knew the password (it was a bliss she had remembered it after that loss of memory): she opened a program that started connecting with certain code fragments she had placed into Hench CO's mainframe on her last visit a couple of weeks before.

And with a bip!, on the screen appeared a new track. It was pretty short this time, less than three minutes, but the title was... fitting, she thought with a smug look on her face.  
In that moment, she decided what to do that night.  
She started the download from Hench's database, that would take no less than... one hour and a half, she read on the screen. Oh, well, she had all the time in the world.  
Feeling much better now that she had something to wait for, she leapt from her chair and headed for the kitchen.

Before she started checking out the chicken in the oven, she threw in the sink the kiwi juice, and then hid the Hench CO's Kiwipeeler of Doom 3000 into the deepest reaches of her mother's cupboard; damn Hench and his 'sign of his esteem'. She didn't want to see the damn thing again in her life.

An hour and half later, the chicken was gone, but a good part of her regret for telling a lie to Ron, to her boyfriend, wasn't. She walked to her room and headed toward her PC still with a weight in her chest; she didn't like lying to him.  
Nor cheating.  
She stopped before her computer, her hand frozen over the mouse. Was this cheating? Was what she was going to do be considered cheating?  
She withdrew her hand a couple of inches.  
Maybe everything she had done for all these months was a lie.

She let the hand fall.  
Yes it was a lie; everything has been a lie.  
She balled her fist, her heart pounding in her chest.  
She had been lying, but not to Ron.

Kim Possible, teen hero, moved her mouse on the screen of her computer and put the file that she had just finished downloading from Hench's database into a flash drive.  
She smiled, a little sadly. She had been lying to herself.  
And with those words, the weight that still was on her chest dropped; it remained only a warm sensation, pulsing.  
Heading to south, doing to her body just what it refused to do when she had been with Ron.  
When Kim headed to her living room, taking the flash drive into her damp hands, her smile wasn't at all sad.

* * *

__

So, here we are.

_Again, I'd like to thank every person who read and/or showed her appreciation for this; thank you Milstead, thank you Honolicious, thank you DarkShadow-Lord. And thank you Jill and Nemo, who left a review without a mean to contact them personally to show my gratitude, so I have to do this in only in public. If you want to exchange words with me, pals, send me a mail or a PM!_

_Thank you for your feedback, guys._  
_I really need it._

_Next time, keep your fire extinguisher with you, things will start to... burn hot. _


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